Those Famous Blue Eyes
by Adamantium Arrow
Summary: When a certain blue clad vigilante is kidnapped, the BatFamily has to cope with grief. But when Barbara realises she has feelings for Dick, is it too late to bring him back? Is it too late for anything; is he too fare gone? SelfHate!Barbara Kidnapped!Dick (Mentions of self harm, depression and gore so viewer discretion is advised). R&R please! TimSteph featured.
1. Chapter 1

**I've been inactive whoops!**

 **Anyways, I have a nice healthy dose of angst for y'all to enjoy, if you like that kind of stuff.**

 **So Yeah. R &R? :3 **

***DISCLAIMER***

 **i dont own DC or the BatFam blah blah. You know the drill.**

"Dick. Dick Grayson."

Those words stuck with Barbara ever since the first time they exited his mouth. She'd always remember the first time she looked into his blue eyes, the perfect smile on his face, even at a young age already present. The moment she found that her crush was Robin (now Nightwing), and that they'd be working together. It was like a dream come true. Correction; it was a dream come true.

Yet dreams do end.

Richard Grayson lay tied up, on a cold, gritty floor, enveloped in darkness, the tiny chinks of light bathing his features in an eerie glow. In the dim lighting, long cuts were visible on his toned, muscled arms, bruises decorating his chiseled features, his eyes bloodshot, dark circles ringing them, making his gaunt features look even more ghostly where they weren't covered by the domino mask.

Blood dripped from his lips, staining his skin a deep scarlet where it travelled, an intricate river of red falling. His ebony hair was matted and dirty, liberal amounts of blood clumped in it, as well as dirt and grit from the less than humane living conditions he was currently being kept in. Even in his semi-conscious state, he could feel the angry sting of the deep cuts on his arm, every beat of his heart making the wounds throb as more of his precious blood spilled out.

He only hoped that none of the superficial wounds would have hit an artery, but he wasn't sure. His torso was excruciating every time he took a shaky breath; at least one of his ribs were cracked, if not broken. And now there was the large bruise on his temple, growing more and more agonizing every second his eyes remained open. His vision kept coming in and out of focus, the room (if you could call it that) spinning and cartwheeling periodically as it danced to and fro in his shaky vision, making him even more dizzy.

Slade Wilson sneered at the broken boy lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, barely moving as each breath shuddered in his ribcage.. He felt a sadistic pleasure coming from every time the boy gasped in pain, or every time he saw his body stiffen from the exertion as he tried not to cry out, every drop of blood bringing a horrible sense of triumphance as more scarlet drops stained the dark floor.

He loved the fact that his jaw was clenched, features tense with pain as his teeth gritted. But only if he could see the famous blue eyes, that supposedly nobody had seen before. Slade's wrinkled face lit up with glee, relishing the thought of seeing the eyes of Nightwing. He could confirm the rumors, if his eyes were actually blue, or if it was brown, black or grey or any other color in the spectrum.

Slade crept up to Dick, noticing how his body tensed at the presence of the villain, and liking it, a sick sense of pleasure at the boy's pain. It made him feel special somehow, like a coveted item that was finally his after a long time of hunting. Lifting up the domino mask, Slade was disappointed to see the eyes were closed, eyelids tense as the veins popped out on his temples, determined not to open them.

"Open your eyes, little bird." He sneered, showing off his vile teeth and rank breath. Cheap whiskey and tobacco; exactly to be expected. But Dick didn't, just lay there, tense. Slade tutted disapprovingly, reaching into his pocket for a syringe. It was loaded with a green liquid, glowing menacingly in the dark, eerie, kind of like Venom. He pressed the syringe to the hero's wrist, loving how he stiffened as the silver point of the needle tore through muscle.

Slade grinned as the boy stiffened even more, a slight hint of a cry of pain escaping his lips. Slowly, the drug began to take effect, and Nightwing could take it no more as pain blossomed from the injection sight, making him feel like he was being burned alive. Essentially, he kind of was, the blood turning a bright scarlet as the corrosive drug entered his bloodstream. A guttural snarl escaped his lips, before another cry and yet another as the drug burned through him, his back arching as another scream escaped.

The veins in his neck popped out as the screams of pain erupted out of his dry cracked lips, resonating in an echo in the hollow chamber. His eyes flew open, bloodshot, but still beautiful electric blue orbs, glassy with pain as madness descended and the agony grew worse. But it didn't cease, and he begged inwardly for the pain to stop, arms tearing at their restraint in an attempt to protect his broken body as his muscles spasmed and his head flopped to the side, unresponsive, the pain exploding in his limp body as the drug took over his sanity. Whimpers of pain escaped his lips, as well as a few drops of blood. Slade grinned.

"Now the world will see your eyes, little bird." He said softly, taking out a small camera and snapping pictures. With a final laugh, the villain exited, grinning as the poison took over the hero's mind, weaving into the emotional parts of the brain that Dick fought to keep concealed. Nightwing's agonized screaming could be heard, the pure terror and pain like nails on a chalkboard.

The last thing he remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was falling, falling far, the sight of a trapeze above him, the thin material of his shirt catching the wind as he fell, down into nothingness…

Don't do drugs.

xxxxx

Babs sat on her bed, her usually rosy face thin and gaunt. Dick had been missing for three days now, and the redhead was distraught with worry. The past three days, she had yet to eat or sleep, just sitting there on the edge of her bed in a silent vigil, hands clasped, palms cold and clammy, since she had gotten wind of his absence. An untouched bowl of pasta sat on the bedside table, her lunch presumably. A cold mug of tea and stale biscuit stood on her desk, along with a tall glass of water, all untouched. Completely unresponsive to external stimuli.

Dark circles ringed the redhead's eyes, her expression taut. Bruce and Alfred looked at the girl's frail body worriedly, willing her to get out of her rut and eat again. Every attempt to rouse the girl had failed, she just stared blankly into the distance silently. Bruce sighed, putting his head in his hands. If she didn't eat or sleep soon, she would have to be put on a drip or even hospitalized. It wouldn't do for his surrogate daughter to be hurting herself in this manner, but Alfred had insisted that she would be alright, that it was just a stage of grieving, and when it came to home matters, Alfred knew best.

With a small sigh, Bruce departed the room. He knew how she felt, he missed Dick too, and had been awake for days on end keeping an eye out for new leads on his location. His face was pale and drawn with worry, uncharacteristically showing his emotion. The door of the study was closed, so nobody was there. Bruce looked upon the mantelpiece, his blue eyes boring into the pictures of Dick. He picked it up, a look of nearly sadness crossing his normally stoic face. With a sigh, he put it back down again, slipping on his cowl. Patrol would go on.

Not technically. He was supposed to be patrolling with Dick tonight, as Tim was otherwise occupied, and Damian was kind of...dead. And Jason wasn't an option, seeing as the two weren't exactly on good terms, since Jason had punched Bruce. (Batman and Robin; Issue 4). Steph was busy with Tim, patrolling another part of Gotham, Arkham presumably, and Cassandra was off doing whatever Cassandra did. Her lack of speaking ability did make communication a little (a lot) difficult at times, and when she did talk she didn't speak much; a sever miscommunication if there ever was one.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh as he pulled his cowl on. Patrolling alone again tonight…


	2. Chapter 2

**Next Chapter! Has a bit of TimSteph and Steph waffling about waffles... (see what I did there? Ba dum tsssss)**

 **Ay on with the fanfiction!**

The door to Wayne Manor opened, allowing a gusty draft to come in, nearly blowing the elderly British butler off of his feet. But of course, being the impeccably perfect man that he was, Alfred Pennyworth managed to stay upright, greet Master Bruce and hang up his cape, all the while holding a tray with tea, milk , sugar and biscuits. He knew they would be uneaten, and the tea not touched, but it was a courtesy, and damn what Bruce wanted, he had to do his job properly. His entire family had served the Waynes, and he was determined to uphold their legacy.

As Bruce dropped shakily into the chair at his desk, Alfred poured him a cupful of Earl Grey, dropping in a sugar cube and a splash of milk, handing it to him with a biscuit. To his surprise, instead of putting it down and forgetting about it, Bruce held the cup to his lips and let the warm, sweet liquid slide down his throat, the bergamot strangely calming for someone who wasn't usually a fan of the particular brew. He numbly accepted the biscuit, placing it on the saucer next to his empty cup.

Alfred cleared it away, a worried expression on his usually blank face. If Bruce willingly drank the tea, without complaint, it must really be hurting him. Alfred felt a twinge of pain as he looked at the uneaten chocolate biscuit. Dick had loved those. No he loves those. He was still alive. Alfred was sure. He had to be alive. He felt a tear forming on his eye, making the room look much more blurry. He blinked it away resolutely; Master Richard was still alive.

He couldn't lose hope. Bruce would be desolated; first Jason, then Damian and now Richard. The world couldn't do this to him. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve it; hell nobody deserved it! Alfred usually refrained from using expletives like he just did, but this was a certain occasion of which he felt was serious enough to deem the use of the said word.

As the butler exited the room, Bruce felt more alone than ever, without the happy presence of Richard Grayson in the desolate manor, like before he had adopted the young ward. A tear trickled down his face as he stared at a picture of Dick, splashing onto the glass covering the frame.

He had taken the picture the day that Dick had been adopted, the happy, innocent smile radiating cheerfulness as he bounced around, his excitement evident as he chattered away, so full of life. Bruce had tried so hard that day to contain his emotions, to not smile at the child's antics, hide under his mask of his typical poker face. Innocence. Something that the world didn't have enough of.

Bruce wiped the picture clean with the edge of his sleeve as he put it back onto his desk, standing up from his chair, pushing it backwards against the carpet. He exited the room, turning off the lights, leaving the photograph of his son shrouded in darkness, a perpetual reminder of his absence in the strangely silent manor.

It was with a heavy heart that Bruce trudged to the living room, laptop in hand as he searched for another lead. As soon as he found one, it turned into a dead end, hopeless and dark. He thought of the poor boy, and his heart broke once over as he looked at the picture. A shadow cast across the room as the British butler peeked through the corridor, holding a covered easel. Time to erase another face from the Wayne family painting. Too soon, too soon to do that. Richard had had so many years left, he was to do great things, and now- no. Alfred, get a grip, he thought to himself. Master Richard is stronger than this, he is still alive.

"Alfred, there's no need to hide." Bruce said quietly, letting the words slip out of his mouth, without looking at Alfred. He instinctively knew the butler was there, no need to turn around and confirm, having spent his entire childhood under the care of Pennyworth.

"Master Bruce, Miss Gordon still refuses to eat or sleep, and I am afraid that she is in grave danger of falling ill in her current state." Alfred said in his clear, crisp British accent. Bruce put his head in his hands with a groan. This was too much.

"That's settled. Put her on a drip if needs be, and make sure she's alright. Afterwards, call Stephanie; she needs to be here, with the others. She doesn't know yet, but she will react emotionally." Bruce said, exiting the room. He peeked into the adjacent room, watching the silhouette of the redhead, ominously still in the room.

xxxxx

"Hello?" Stephanie Brown asked blearily, pressing the 'answer' button on her mobile, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. She switched on the lamp by her bed, pushing the duvet off as she did so, a small yawn escaping her lips as the mattress creaked from her movement.

"Miss Brown, if it would be possible, it would be appreciated if you could come down to Gotham." said Alfred, frowning a little at her sleepy tone, but letting it go since it was quite late, or very early depending how you looked at it.

"Alfie..." Steph said, scratching her head in slight annoyance. "Gotham? Again? C'mon, I just got a break," she fumed, pulling her duvet up to her neck as she lay back down, pulling a pillow over her head. What was so important?

"There's been a slight situation, if I may." Alfred said cryptically, wanting to arouse her curiosity. But Stephanie wasn't exactly amused, and shot up from her warm cocoon indignantly.

"Ask the others, please." She said, scrambling for an excuse. "I would but... I'm..." She gave a small smirk as she glanced over at the lump engulfed in blankets beside her. "... Busy." She'd made an excuse that was totally foolproof, or so she thought. But she was dealing with Alfred Pennyworth, and he wasn't as dumb as you'd think. Not that one would usually find the British butler stupid but...never mind.

"Busy?" Alfred asked with a knowing smile on his face that could be heard over the phone. "Doing what?" He knew he'd trumped her with that; Steph was never good with excuses, and he knew better than anyone. Almost.

"Tim." Stephanie muttered not really watching where her mouth went before she realised what had just left them. "Haha. That was- uh- that was a joke… Obviously. Tim's uh- he's…" As she said his name, the boy that was beside her looked up with a questioning glance, to which she mouthed 'Alfred', making a 'sh' symbol with her hand. He just shrugged and turned over, falling asleep instantly leaving Steph to deal with the awkward conundrum that she had dug herself into.

"Excuse me, Miss Brown!" Alfred said, a shocked look coming to his face. Stephanie felt the impending sense of doom that only came when you pissed off Alfred Pennyworth, and when that happened you'd probably need the entire JLA's powers and influence to escape his wrath, once he got started.

"That uhm...came out wrong. I'm just making waffles. With Tim." She said, unhelpfully, before realizing what she said and slapping a hand to her forehead, looking at the lump sheepishly. "Waffles. Actual waffles. Just in case if you thought of anything else..."

"Stephanie... I do not know what you just meant by your previous statements, but I would not care to inquire. Just please come down to Gotham as soon as you can." He said, shaking his head. Oh, the nerve of today's generation! Lord almighty, this was just... The British butler had no words as he cut the connection of the call, leaving a blushing, stuttering blonde batgirl in his wake, staring at the phone, wondering what the hell just happened, and what Alfred would say to her once she had arrived at Gotham. And what was so important? Probably not laundry, or he would've come in guns blazing.

"Tim, wake up. We have to head to Gotham now, provided Alfred doesn't turn up here first…" she muttered, pulling the duvet off of the raven haired boy who was asleep next to her, ignoring his annoyed moan as the warm blanket was rudely pulled off. He muttered something before getting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, giving the phone a grouchy glare as he dragged himself off of the soft mattress. Steph hid a grin underneath her hoodie which she was currently pulling over her shirt, giving Tim a small kiss as a reward for getting up (somewhat) quietly and behaving himself.

xxxxx

The journey to Wayne Manor was a quiet one; Stephanie sat silently at the back of the taxi, Tim fast asleep against her shoulder. Damn, that boy could sleep absolutely anywhere, she mused. But then again they had stayed up quite late watching movies the night before... Actually more than watching movies but that wasn't the point. They'd been doing some recon for an upcoming case and their research had been absolutely insane.

As the two pulled up to Wayne Manor, Steph gently (or not so gently) shook him awake, pulling him out of the vehicle as she handed him a twenty dollar bill.

"Keep the change," she said, before heading up the doorsteps to be greeted by Alfred, the smell of chocolate chip cookies (his specialty) greeting their noses.

"Miss Brown, Master Timothy, please enter." Alfred said, opening the door and hanging up their various coats and jackets that they had hurriedly slipped on, revealing Steph's sweatpants and ratty T-shirt, and Tim's less-than-flattering baggy shirt and pants. Alfred raised an eyebrow at the duo, ushering them into the living room and picking up his tea-tray; complete with the famous biscuits, which Tim grabbed before turning to Bruce, who didn't seem affected at all by the late hour.

"When you're quite finished, Master Bruce would like to speak to you." Alfred hinted, a wry smile coming from the corner of his mouth, as he observed the boy tucking into the treats. Stephanie on the other hand was looking intently at Bruce, wondering why they had been called into Gotham at such a late hour, and what could be so important as to warrant a visit from the two. She shot Tim a dirty look "What?" He asked still a bit tired, "Nothing, just shut up and eat your cookie." She replied as she shoved a biscuit into his mouth, making him sit back.

"mmmffff…" he muttered, around the warm cookie, causing the butler to turn away to hide the twitching corners of his lips. Go figure.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Bruce started once Tim had regained his dignity and use of his mouth. "Dick's been captured, and Barbara's distraught. We need to find him."

As the blonde bat heard the ominous words, she felt her heart turn to stone. She wasn't as close to the boy as Barbara or Tim, but they were good friends and usually got along, unless it was an awful fight or something of that calibre.

"No, that can't be right," she said, her usually bright eyes now too bright with worry. "He's okay, he's okay, this is just a joke… Right?"

"Steph. Do you think Bruce would kid about this kind of stuff?" Tim asked, as the words escaped the girl's lips. She shook her head forcefully, trying to comprehend exactly what had happened, she was in denial. Tim's eyes were dark and he said nothing else as Steph pulled him into a bone crushing hug...

 **Dunn dunn dunnn... What Happens to Dick?**

 **I hope you enjoyed this installment, and if it was good enough...maybe leave a review?**

 **3**

 **-Adamantium Arrow**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The angst piles on now. There'll be severely traumatising incidents that Dickiebird will be reliving.**

 **So if you dislike graphic things...don't read.**

 **But if you're still here, then thank you :3**

 **Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favorited. And thanks to everyone who's enjoying the story and taking the time to read it.**

 **ANYWAYS.**

 **On with the fanfiction.**

Even though Tim was calm and collected on the outside, his inner self was in an utter turmoil. No. This couldn't be happening, he kept trying to tell himself, the more primitive part of his mind not wanting to accept what had happened, but his gut and conscience told him it was true. Besides, why would Bruce lie about this kind of stuff? Bruce wasn't like that; everything was serious.

But he could only wonder why it was Dick. Through the carefree nature and bad jokes, he was easily one of the most experienced in the family, and the most vigilant. But he was the most well known, and his reputation for crime fighting and ass kicking meant that he had built up quite the reputation in Gotham City, and the surrounding areas. Hell he was even known on Mars for heaven's sake, and Diana's affiliations with the JLA meant that the Amazons had also heard of him. Even on Themyscira they had heard of the famed vigilante that had taken on the mantle of Nightwing.

Dick didn't deserve this, he had given too much to Gotham, dedicated his entire life to crime fighting, more so than any of the others. He was the powerful one, the strongest one in the family. No. Tim couldn't believe it; the half eaten biscuit fell from his hand, forgotten. Crumbs spilled across the soft material of the sofa, embedding themselves in the fabric as tears from Stephanie's eyes dripped onto his shirt, the grey material going dark as the drops landed on his shirt. He put his arm around her awkwardly, hugging the blonde close. He didn't know why it was so awkward, but it simply was. Completely disregarding the fact that they were together (finally), Tim didn't really know how to console Steph except to give her a hug and a plate of waffles. He rubbed her back, letting her cry into his shoulder as he hugged her tightly, his own eyes sad and empty.

Dick was his older brother, and he didn't deserve this. The world was unjust, angry and unfair. Suddenly, the grief changed to anger, a burning rage that couldn't be quelled, a desire to avenge him. To make sure his older brother of sorts was safe, and would come home. He'd be okay, he told himself. He's survived worse.

He reached out to grab the computer on the desk, prising Stephanie's arms off of him. In the quiet minutes of brooding that he had allowed himself, she'd cried herself into a fitful sleep, and for fear of her waking up and being disturbed, he gently picked her up and lay her down on the adjacent sofa, placing a warm blanket that the butler had left over the edge of the sofa over the girl, sighing in relief when he saw her chest rising and falling in the even breaths, her blue eyes closed and expression finally peaceful. He wiped away a tear track, before settling opposite her, the computer and a cup of tea balanced on his lap. Time to get hacking.

Wait. He had no leads. With a curse under his breath, Tim quickly logged into the Bat Family Database, and began filtering through the countless internet forums for posts that could have an idea about Dick's disappearance.

But if only he knew what to search.

xxxxx

Dick came to in a white room, burning cuts all over his body. The remnants of his shirt had been cut away, and his eyes were bleary. As his vision refocused, he realised that he was lying on a table, bound by wrists and ankles. White leather shackles were squeezing his joints, his fingers and toes having a slightly bluish tinge to them as a result of the lack of circulation the restraints were having on him. Even as he moved his head to the side, he felt the barely scabbed over cuts splitting, the tiny tendrils of clotted blood ripping as he moved, or as much as he could under the hold of the restraints, cutting into his already raw skin. Red marks and purpling bruises were shown off by the chalky pale complexion.

But that wasn't what got to him, oh no. It wasn't the fact that he was lying barely clothed in a white room, it wasn't that he was bound. It wasn't even the fact that the mystery green drug had worn off. Not even the fact that he was kidnapped.

It was the fact that his mask was gone from his face.

And that his eyes were visible.

The famous electric blue eyes.

Richard felt his blood run cold as he forced his eyes closed again, before opening them. No doubt Slade would have some hidden camera in the room. Probably above, he mused, turning his head around, uncaring as more barely healed cuts split open yet again. He got another shock as his eyes shot open, as he was somehow able to see his entire reflection. He cursed.

A mirror glued to the ceiling. Or one way glass. There was no way to be sure what had happened to the roof but he was pretty sure he was being watched. Actually no; he was positive. Clearing as many of the stars out of his eyesight that was humanly possible in the short amount of time and tiny space, he squeezed his eyes shut and peeked them open so they were barely slits. He didn't care about the headache, or the fact that he probably had a concussion. He didn't give a damn about the stinging cuts, or the excruciating pain of his swollen rib, or the lump of bone that peeked through the red, inflamed skin. He just wanted to get out of there.

But wherever 'there' was, out was certainly not an option, seeing as he was currently tied to a table, and his captors were probably watching him. He frowned as he thought of Slade. How had Slade managed to one up him? He was always hyper vigilant when it came to street security and keeping himself safe; he knew the dangers of Gotham City more than most people did, having fought crime for many years in the place.

Also, he lived there, and his alter ego, Richard Grayson-Wayne had to socialise with the socialites, occasionally getting into the paper or on TV. So how had Slade managed to catch Nightwing? Catching Richard could happen, but Nightwing? The highly trained, perfectly equipped hero? How?

It had been easier than Slade expected to catch the vigilante, his cunning mind at work as he looked at maps with his remaining eye, the other hidden underneath the eye patch, his gnarly teeth hitched in a terrifying smirk, the madness evident. Set up a trap; armed robbery on the East Side of Gotham. Something that would make sure that the infernal Batman would be busy, and send out Nightwing on a case. Of course, coinciding with the vigilante's return from Bludhaven, he knew that he would be itching to get back into action. So the plan to fool the World's Greatest Detective had been easier to pull off than Slade had previously imagined. Like taking candy from a baby, he mused gleefully.

So the trap had been set, and the group of bats had walked straight into it. Whilst Batman had been otherwise incapacitated, Slade had captured the young vigilante. It had been surprisingly easy to kidnap the bat child; several mercenaries to distract and a simple blow-dart to the carotid artery had easily taken down the vigilante. Too cocky for his own good, Slade mused, blatantly ignoring that fact that it was he himself who suffered from that particular personality setback.

His eyes were turned back to the figure lying on the table, eyes squeezed shut with pain as a trembling moan escaped the vigilante's lips, his fists clenched, not even trying to fight their bonds any longer, lying limp. The bruises and cuts stood out on his torso, the ripped shreds of his nightwing costume showing off his pained torso. His ribs were disfigured greatly; a thin shard of bone poking through the skin, a raised bump, immensely painful as a choking breath hitched in his chest, struggling to breathe and allow his oxygen-starved brain to function. Slade smirked, before leaving the observation room. It was time for this to begin, his revenge against the infernal bats that always seemed to get in the way of his plans.

xxxxx

Cool air washed over the villain's pockmarked skin as he entered the chamber, his impressive set of swords and armor hanging off his back loosely as he inspected the vigilante, on the brink of unconsciousness. He felt a sadistic sense of happiness as he saw Dick fighting the pain, trying not to show the agony that he was being put through, a considerable feat, even for the bat trained man who could endure countless torture. But it was obvious his resolve was weakening; his cerulean eyes didn't have that spark of determination anymore. As if he had given up.

And in essence he had; the fiery drug hand taken its toll on his mental state, wisps of doubt planted into his addled mind, the pain and confinement slowly pushing him towards the edge of insanity, the darkness clouding over his eyes as Slade just 'tsk'ed and turned his back for a minute, one leering eye on a medical cart next to the vigilante, strong fingers making the slender needles look even more delicate, vials of neon colored liquid in impossibly thin glass bottles, like they could smash with one touch. They were exquisitely made too; parallel to each other, identical in length, and all made with the same thin sheet of transparent material.

"Let's see how this one reacts," Slade murmured, crooning, almost gentle as he picked up a vial of swirling gas, struggling to escape its bonds, the opaque gas looking dirty against the stark whiteness of the room. A gasp held in was barely audible as the vigilante realised that there would be more of the mystery 'medication'.

Slade's fingers delicately pushed open an ampoule of sterilised water, the crack of the vial and the hiss of pressurised air mixing with the slight hum of the air conditioner, keeping the room at a rather icy temperature. The vial of gas was quickly dissolved in the water, going from crystal clear to a murky shade in seconds as they mixed, careful not to let any of the gas escape. Dick wondered for a moment what that was, risking a slight peek through his swollen eyelids. He didn't recognise the substance in the vial, no.

But he would soon find out.

Slade drew the liquid up in a large syringe, taking care to get the very last drops out before stepping over to the table where Dick lay. His eye was a cruel glint, a shard of obsidian, leeringly close. Close enough for Dick to make out the individual hairs on his face. The specked lips. The individual strands of string holding his eye patch to his pockmarked face, staring.

Then he moved back with a chuckle, a smirk on his face as he wondered how the vigilante would react to his latest toy.

Which had taken a lot of bargaining from a certain Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Slade just let the needle slide under the vigilante's skin,releasing the fear toxin into his system. He briefly wondered how long it would take for the toxin to take effect but… it was worth the wait.

 **Dunn dunnn dunnnnnnnn...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well this is just a filler chapter. All that angsty stuff will come in the next chapter.**

 **And don't worry, they do find him.**

 **or a piece of him anyway. *evil laugh***

 **xxxxx**

The vigilante felt the stabbing pain of the needle as it pulled into his muscled arms, releasing whatever vile medicine within into his body, a wisp of scarlet staining the needle as the syringe pierced through his skin. A light moan escaped through his lips, the pain rushing through him. Then it was over.

Hollow voices were echoing inside his head, darkness clouding Richard's cerulean eyes as the drug forced him into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling back into his head as the atrementous black consumed him, his body relaxing as its motionless limbs sank into the table.

His fingers hung aside, light shining on his wounds.

Then a flinch.

Then his figure tensed, gripping the side of the table with his broken fingers, tendons sticking out. His figure arched, a macabre bucking action as his eyes flew open. The cerulean eyes stared at the ceiling, no emotion, pupils severely dilated, consumed by fear. Pure fear.

A piercing scream shook the room as the vigilante shattered inside.

Then another.

And another.

His screams didn't subside as blackness consumed him, colors blurring in his eyes as visions took him over, forcing him under. A trembling whimper escaped his dry chapped lips as the memories washed over him, sending him tumbling...falling...falling...

 **xxxxx**

Bruce was mad.

So mad.

So angry that mere words couldn't describe the rage he was feeling. Despair. Injustice. Hate. Loss. Misery.

36 hours later and he hadn't found Dick yet.

Too many emotions at once. Even the Dark Knight couldn't handle it, not for long anyway. Signs of deterioration were beginning to show on his sleepless face; he was pale and drawn, dark circles under his eyes and a defeated expression in his periwinkle eyes, something that distressed the British Butler. It was so odd to see the normally stoic man to have so many emotions plaguing him, and even odder to see that he expressed it.

"Penny for your thoughts, master Bruce?" Alfred inquired quietly as he removed the untouched tepid cup of tea that was sitting on his desk, replacing it with a fresh cup, the distinctive scent of Earl Grey filling the air as Alfred set a tray of milk, sugar and biscuits on the desk next to the brooding man.

"Alfred..." He began, looking up at the butler with a desolate expression, hopelessness evident as grief did its damage. "God. There are no leads on Dick... I just feel like I could do more, than just sit here and wait." He said forcefully.

"Master Bruce, I must warn you not to tire yourself out in this manner." Alfred chastised gently, his mustache quivering as he spoke. "When you find him, you'll need to be at full strength."

"If. If I find him." Bruce corrected.

"Master Bruce. He'll inevitably turn up. We can't get rid of Master Dick so easily." Alfred chided, before pressing the mug of tea intones hands. "Now drink," the Englishman said. "It'll help."

"Very well, Alfred." Bruce said, in a resigned tone, lifting the cup to his lips as he let the hot liquid trickle down his throat. Indeed it was soothing, very much so. He felt himself relax, his head growing heavy, following Alfred's strong hands as the butler led him to -the couch.

Bruce was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

The butler heaved a sigh before dimming the lights, adjusting his suit jacket to conceal the packet of sleeping pills hidden in his pocket. Sometimes, you just had to do what you had to do to keep someone safe. And Alfred knew he would, do anything to protect the Wayne family.

Now to check on Barbara.

The redhead awoke from her light slumber with a quiet groan of confusion, blinking her blue eyes owlishly as she groped for her glasses, fingers scrabbling on the nightstand. As she slipped them on, she felt her blurry vision clear, the room now visible as opposed to the psychedelic mess that the room had been in previously.

Barbara peered around the room, wondering how on earth she had fallen asleep. There was an ersatz monotonous beeping present, a dull ache in her left arm as she gathered her bearings. She was dressed in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, the thin material covering her figure. A warm comforter was draped on top of her body, legs resting on a soft mattress.

She glanced to her left, realizing there is an intravenous drip lodged in her arm, a milky liquid hanging from a stand, a slender tube leading from the bag to her arm. She rolled her eyes. Alfred definitely. It had only been a few days, since she last ate or slept. She'd gone worse.

"There's really no need for all this," she muttered indignantly to herself, before she shut her eyes again, suddenly exhausted even though she had been asleep for a while. Babs didn't remember falling asleep at all. It was seemingly like she had sat down, and awoke in the bed. She chided herself inwardly.

What if there's news about Dick? She thought to herself in annoyance. What if he's been found? I don't know anything. What if he's still missing? What if something happened? Her cerulean eyes were dark as they reopened, blinking back salty tears. She pulled out the needle with a small wince, ripping away the surgical tape savagely before swinging out of bed, padding out of her room.

She peeked at a mirror as she left, catching sight of her bedraggled appearance. Her soft red locks were in a crumpled heap falling down her back, messy and unkempt. Her face was thinner than usual; the hollows of her cheeks visible, standing prominent against her deep set eyes, sunken. Even though she had just awoke, she still looked tired, the dark circles and eye bags testament to her exhaustion.

"Miss Gordon, what are you doing?" An authoritative british voice sounded crisply, as if appearing from thin air behind her. Babs turned sheepishly.

"Hey, Alfred." She greeted him politely, her tired eyes meeting his warm ones, turning to meet his gaze. "Just, uhh..." She didn't have any excuse.

He looked at her knowingly. "Very well, Miss Gordon. Perhaps now you're awake you might like something to eat?" The way he said it meant it wasn't a request.

"That would be nice," she replied, though her voice and expression made it clear that she felt the opposite. Nevertheless, Alfred would make sure she ate something, as it was evidently unhealthy to go without food for this long. No. He wouldn't let Barbara deteriorate too. He'd just managed to get Bruce to sleep (albeit with sleeping pills), but still did nevertheless. Alfred wasn't about to let anyone else in the manor to hurt themselves like that.

"Tim and Steph are at the parlor, eating biscuits and tea." Alfred announced, frowning at her ghostly pallor as they walked down the corridor. "If you'd like to join them you may." Seeing as she didn't look particularly happy, he was quick to offer another solution.

"I could make you something in the kitchen, provided that you promise me you will eat." Alfred said, in that tone that meant business. "We're all worried about Master Dick, but you've got to take care of yourself too, Miss Gordon." They had reached the kitchen by this point, and it was with a quiet gesture that the butler pulled out a chair and went to the other side of the vast room, leaving Barbara to her thoughts for a moment as he returned.

She gave him a small nod of thanks, trying not to show her distaste as Alfred set a bowl of soup and water in front of her. Her stomach flipped as the scent of broth reached her nose. No this wasn't the time. She felt sick with worry, pushing around the chicken soup in the bowl, clearly not hungry. Alfred just observed, letting her fight this battle herself, his watchful eye always on her. After what seemed like an age, she finally lifted the spoon to her mouth, accepting the soup.

It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless. It was hard seeing her push herself I that manner, but the alternative was worse. Maybe Barbara would be okay, maybe the grief would ebb enough for her to care for herself better.

Alfred knew that she cared for Richard more deeply than anyone else, except perhaps Bruce. The love in her eyes was evident.

He watched as she raised the spoon to her lips again, a drop of the broth falling back into the bowl with a splash.

 **xxxxx**

 **If you liked it, please do drop a review. It only takes a second and really makes my day. There'll probably be more updates, *hint hint***

 **Anyways. Thanks to everyone who liked it, and read it and reviewed/followed/faved it. It means a lot.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here comes plenty of horrible memories to plague our favourite Robin. Or my favorite. Whoop. I feel like I just like torturing him for some sadistic reason... I'm having far too much fun with this in all honesty.**

 **Thanks for the amazing reviews; they really do make my day! :3**

 **And I haven't read The Killing Joke so I kind of improvised on Babs' paralysis... Don't hesitate to correct me, thanks!**

 **All mistakes are mine; I'm un-betaed.**

 **xxxxx**

A familiar cheering from the crowd roused Richard away from his coveted blackness, where solace could be found in the bliss of unconsciousness. The sheer drop of the abrupt end of the platform loomed up against his feet, the tight feel of the spandex curling across his small chest, the familiar 'G' insignia shining bright upon the deep sea green suit. His petite figure had a wiry strength to them, something graceful in the way he stepped up the ladder, poised.

"...and now we have the finale; performing death-defying stunts without the aid of a net, the Fabulous Flying Graysons!" The booming voice of the kindly circus master sounded through the tent. The apprehension was in the air, the eagerness of the crowd and the bated breaths, the thundering applause slightly half hearted as the impatient audience waited to see the family that defied gravity.

The Romany boy's eyes were shining as the spotlight shone onto the family, standing erect atop the platform, the net pulled away swiftly. The adrenaline was rushing, all of the crowd's watching, in eagerness to see the family fly.

A whisk of moving color was visible below, moving swiftly like it didn't want to be found. Richard felt an odd feeling, as if something bad was about to happen, his impending doom in front of him. But it was fleeting, the joy of flying taking over his moment of paranoia. Probably just nerves, he thought to himself, keeping the upbeat smile.

Little did he know.

But the grown Richard was watching, like a bird's eye view. He could see the empty hope in the child's eyes, so heartbreakingly innocent, the despair coming closer like a train, and the child was running straight towards it, taken unaware. He shut his cerulean eyes. No. Not this again.

The inevitable was going to happen.

The inevitable that haunted his dreams for years. Now he was forced to relive it.

He noticed the tiny details more than ever, the loving glance of his mother and father before John stepped into the light. The trapeze began swinging, and he jumped.

The arc of his body was elegant, a flawless leap of faith into the air as his powerful arms latched onto the trapeze, swinging to and fro as he twisted around, unaware of what would happen next.

The heartbeat was loud in Dick's heart, as he watched his father swing, the look of concentration and pleasure in his eyes.

He watched as his father twisted and swung, letting go for a split second before hanging back on, an intricate twist of his lithe figure, the audience silent as they watched him fly; literally. They didn't see the weakening rope, the strands thinner and thinner as the man's fate awaited.

Dick watched as his mother gave him a small nod, eyes full of love as always, stepping out into the spotlighted part of the platform. Her cerulean eyes were bright, her long hair pulled back, the crowd enthralled by her lithe beauty as the suit clung to her curves, her form a ripple of light as she jumped, an elegant motion.

But this was where all of it went wrong.

Dick watched his mother jump, her hands interlocking with his father's wrists, her long hair streaming out behind her like a banner, body straight. He watched with horrified eyes, as she was suspended in the air for a millisecond, flying. He watched the shock jar his father as the strands of nylon gave out, the momentous surprise that shook him in their last fleeting moments of life.

Dick was frozen in horror as he saw his younger self standing in the shadows, trying to comprehend what was happening. He watched as the ropes fell, in slow motion, the fraying pieces of the cord falling, plummeting to the ground, a piercing scream shaking the air.

Like his parents.

His father's legs were still hooked around the bar, his powerful hands holding onto his wife's as if they could save them from their fate of death. The crowd watched, frozen with horror as the Flying Graysons fell, to a place they could fly no more. Their hands still entwined. As if they could be saved, a thought that was in vain at this moment as death came closer until it took them.

He watched in silence as they fell, younger and older self captured in the horror as his parents hit the ground, the sickening crunch of their bones as the life ebbed away on impact, their once powerful bodies now lackluster and limp. He saw the death in their cerulean eyes, once shining but now truly dead, the emptiness evident in their broken, shattered bodies, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Richard's eyes met his younger self's, consumed by the same shock and despair. Broken eyes met broken for a moment, before the blackness washed over him again, encasing him with his fear, the strangled screams and the dead look echoing in his mind, the shrill screams echoing in his ears…

Dick's bleary eyes flashed to consciousness for a moment, the sterile whiteness of the room blinking at him like a white hot light, the blurry ceiling tiles dancing as the lights flickered eerily. He was vaguely aware of a burning agony spreading through his body, but the physical pain was nothing compared to seeing the slightly surprised expressions on his parents' faces as they plummeted to the ground over and over again, an endless cycle of death and despair.

 **xxxxx**

Another trembling moan escaped his parted lips as his back arched yet again, his entire mind and body focused on the powerful drug in his system, pushing his deeply buried fears to the fore. Darkness enveloped him once more, but not the reassuring kind.

It was a familiar darkness. The familiar biting chill of Gotham digging into his skin, the familiar rain dripping down his back as he stepped through the corrupt city, not in a bird's' eye view this time but as him. Dick Grayson. But it wasn't him controlling where he went; he was only acutely aware of his body moving, as if controlled by some paranormal force.

They took him down the familiar roads, the same crumbling tarmac and flickering streetlights, so familiar. A pang of agony jarred his body as his eyes cast over the square where The Flying Graysons fell to their death during that fateful charity show. But it was hidden, as if there was another more agonising memory that was to come.

Or perhaps this was real. In his addled state he couldn't tell what was fake from reality, his drugged mind spinning psychedelic images and senses going haywire. He tried to speak but couldn't, his apparition merely what it was.

A familiar sight graced his eyes as his form stepped across the pavements, strangely rigid yet macabre, like a marionette being controlled by a puppetmaster. He vaguely recognised the Gordon Residence, but didn't understand what was going to happen next. Perhaps a dream?

But his gut knew better than that.

Richard found himself in Barbara's living room, standing in a corner, surveying the scene. He wanted to call out to her but it seemed like she couldn't hear him. Just going about as usual, muttering her opinion about coffee and going through files on her computer in her civilian identity. He noticed the curl of her long red hair, and the curving motion of her back as she leaned forwards, evidently unaware of his existence at the current moment. But he himself wasn't prepared too.

The door to the comfortable house caved inwards, shattering on impact as it hit the hard wood of the floor, the yelp of surprise and the curse that came from Barbara's lips as she scrabbled for her weapon. She dove across the room for her utility belt, hanging on a chair and bright yellow against the muted burgundy of the armchair, but her assailant beat her to it.

With an earsplitting cackle, a figure shrouded in shadow wrenched out a gun, skeletal fingers closing around the handle as the redhead dove for cover, sensing what was coming. She could hold her own when it came to hand to hand combat but she wasn't really going to risk that with The Joker.

"Hell…" Dick breathed, an epiphany coming as all the metaphorical clouds in his head cleared, and he realised what would come next. Where he hadn't actually seen what had happened, he had accurately reconstructed the shot from forensic evidence, but it would be so much more stark seeing it unfold.

He saw the macabre form of The Joker welcome himself into her house with surprising speed, his fingers latching onto the long cascade of her crimson tresses as she dove, the snap of her neck audible as a cry of pain escaped her lips. Dick watched as Barbara twisted around, jamming a foot into the villain's chest cavity, the scream of agony as her limb was twisted, the leg bent at an unnatural angle, blood trickling from her nose as she struggled away, or rather, attempted to.

He could only watch with his jaw dropped as the redhead's figure was broken brutally by the hands of the crazed clown, the pure agony in her cerulean eyes as The Joker beat her brutally, the terror embedded in her face like fire, burning her, consuming her as she tried to fight away.

But then it came…

Dick could only stare through pained eyes as he saw The Joker pull out his gun with a mad, muted cackle, as if he was stuck in a macabre nightmare of sorts, much more slowly. He could see the flick of his hair, the tendons on his pale neck sticking out as the gun was pointed at Barbara. They seemed frozen, for a second, and he could see Barbara's petrified expression, her lips mouthing a soundless scream.

"No…" he muttered. But it would come. For sure. He held a moment of solace to himself as the figures of Barbara and The Joker were seemingly suspended in midair, like puppets.

Then the shot came. A resounding bang that shattered the sound barrier, the scream of pain that emitted from Barbara's mouth as the bullet smashed through her spine, the vertebrae shattering on impact as the bullet drove through her body, scarlet drops of precious blood pooling on her shirt.

Barbara's body was flung back brutally, the booted foot of the mad clown connecting with her abdomen, causing more of the crimson blood to exit her rapidly dying body. He watched as she stumbled back, unconscious before she hit the floor in a crumpled heap, her collapsed figure lying by the upended couch, chest rising and falling shallowly, eyes closed as a whimper escaped her mouth. Darkness came over her immediately.

Dick could hear her guttural scream, echoing in his mind as he watched, somehow impassive.

Then the flash of a camera came, the leering face of The Joker inches away from Barbara's. Then another flash. Then another.

Before Dick registered what had happened, his world faded to darkness once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**First of all, I apologise profusely for my delay in continuing this story, or updating. My country decided to block FFN because its supposedly a 'security risk' or whatnot. And it blocked stuff like Reddit, or Pinterest and whatever. Yeah, its a tad f*cked up. (More than a tad). Ugh. But I'm moving, so updates should definitely be more consistent (maybe a chapter every 2 weeks, ish, depending on my muse).**

 **I apologise again; your reviews kept me going. So here's a longer (hopefully chapter), full of feels.**

 **And I've got a new spacing format, so... Yay?**

 **\- Thank You 3**

 **Also, I'll make it a point to reply to reviews, but if it's simply 'please update' then I won't. If its a long one, then yeah, but otherwise... I dunno.**

~ FANFICTION ~

Dick came to in a crumpled heap on the ground.

He realised that something was amiss when he moved, the feeling of tight spandex clinging to his skin slightly slowed by something. The familiar feel of the domino mask pressed against his eyes, contoured impeccably around the handsome features.

He gasped as he sat up, the stench of death avid in the air, the metallic tang of blood gracing his lips as he moved. His heartbeat quickened, as he looked around wildly to see where the overpowering scent was coming from.

But as he did, he realised that it was probably not a good idea.

The all too familiar 'Welcome to Bludhaven' sign had bodies draped over it, like a macabre version of a toilet-paper house. Streaks of crimson blood danced down the billboard with vigor, starkly contrasting against the paint job. Down below, more bodies lay in various states of decay, some emaciated, others clearly murdered.

The blank, lifeless eyes of the dead seemed to scrutinise his form as he scrambled to his feet, a cold feeling of dread hanging in the air like a ghost. The dismembered, broken bodies stared, boring into his figure as if they had some kind of personal vendetta against him. As if they blamed him for their deaths.

Even in the silence of death the masses of people were angry.

"No…" he whispered to himself as he dodged another falling body, tumbling from the skyscraper next to him, her blonde hair cascading behind her as her lips parted in a silent scream. Her cerulean eyes honed in on him, the agony evident even as her bloodless body quickly faded into death. Instinctively, he put his hands out to catch her, her body crashing into his arms a dead weight, the sound of her snapping collarbone shattering the impending silence of the fallen city. Her eyes were blank. Lifeless.

"No…" he whispered to himself again as he recognised the slim jawline and sweet features. Steph. Even in death she was so impeccably Steph, her lips slightly smiling for a second before she died, blue eyes shining with the ghost of her last laugh. Her blonde hair was swept across her face, coming loose from its usual ponytail as usual.

"Steph…" he murmured, before the sound of a gunshot broke the air. A bitter growl escaped his lips as he set the girl's broken body on the hard asphalt, running towards the commotion. His escrima sticks were in his hands, eyes narrowed in determination behind his domino mask.

~FANFICTION~

The silhouette in the distance was recognisable even from the distance. A lithe figure, with a blunt haircut could be seen, crumpling to the floor in slow motion as a rarely heard whimper escaped her lips. Drops of crimson plasma could be seen, as well as the bullet exiting her muscled body, crashing into the wall of the alley beside her.

Cass.

The first Robin had always held a close bond to the mute bat, his excessive patter doing wonders for the silent girl. It seemed like an unlikely friendship, but Richard was like an older brother to her. And she was his little sister, someone who he vowed to protect.

Ever since Cass had joined the ragtag group of orphans, she and Dick had formed a special bond, stronger friendships than all but Alfred and Bruce himself. He promised she wouldn't have to endure the torture and suffering she had so quietly accepted as a child, no need to fight to an inch of her life anymore. And yet here he had broken his promise.

Her cry was piercing, diving through his ears and exploding within, something feral with terror and betrayal, animalistic and barely human. He saw her head snap back, the bullet flying through her chest, the sickening crack of her shattering ribs mixed with the gasp of pain that escaped her bloodstained lips.

"Cass!" Dick shouted as he vaulted over the fallen bodies, his cerulean eyes focused on his little sister. Maybe she would live, and not suffer this fate. His hands spun as he leapt over a car, neatly smashing the thugs, their bodies crumpling on impact. He made swift work of the others, a boot to the gut and head put them out of commission easily, his powerful form solely focused on his sister. The one who he failed to protect.

But that only lasted for a second as another scream shook the air, rattling the windowpanes of the fallen citizens of Bludhaven. The girl in his arms fell into the abyss of death, the light blinking out of her dark eyes almost as soon as his arms encircled her broken form, the fierce, fighting girl gone and replaced by a dead weight, the scars inflicted dancing all over her pale face. Even in death, there was a look of sadness. Grief.

~FANFICTION~

This scream was...guttural, pure fear, animalistic as the sounds of sizzling permeated the air. The telltale sound of a taser could be heard through the muggy silence of death, burned in his auditory nerves forever. Richard would never forget the fleeting moment his eyes met his younger brother's, cerulean on cerulean on the leaded panes. The black cowl that covered his head was ripped, the winglike cape on his back reduced to tatters of black material, floating to the ground silently.

Tim.

Tim's body spasmed as the wires snagged into his skin delivered another electrifying surge of electricity (pun totally intended), jerking in a grotesque manner as the voltage took control of his form, the surge of power so strong that his body seemed to lift off the ground for a moment as the bouts of paroxysm shook him. The cry of agony burned in the air along with his body, the electricity ceasing for a moment.

Tears brimmed in Richard's eyes as he watched his brother convulse, the voltage driving him to insanity, not even aware of the gritty ground he was lying on let alone his older brother watching from the distance, the burning agony of the electricity consuming him as guttural screams echoed through the air. He knew that the electricity would fry him at the very least, the residual current enough to power a city. He wanted to stay, to hold his brother and tell him he was going to be okay as he slipped into death with every jolt of current, to hold him close until he left. But he couldn't. There were more people to save.

But other sounds of mayhem were audible in the air, the sounds of a mad cackling shattering the stagnant quiet that had lingered as the last breath escaped the fallen Robin's lungs, succumbing to death's gentle pull. The laughter was chilling, a cold eerie sensation creeping up his spine, the hairs on his neck standing up on end, dread imminent. There was an eldritch feeling in the air, something not quite right.

Then the sound of the crowbar connecting with bone crashed through the night.

Seemingly in slow motion, the rhythmic motion of the crazed clown's arm moved, the piece of metal connecting with the delicate spinal cord with an earsplitting crack, a scream of pure fear, pure agony and despair coming soon after, ringing, ringing, ringing…

Jason.

A soundless scream could be seen, etched onto the vigilante's face as he moved in a futile attempt to keep the crowbar away from the helmet, the purple suited madman's arm still moving robotically as another of his brothers fell. The helmet had cracked away with the fifth blow, a concussive blow, splitting down the middle completely, before crashing onto the destroyed pavements and rolling to a halt at Dick's feet, the cracked halves looking more broken than ever.

"No…" He murmured, leaping forwards, sending his body flying over the roof of a car, using the next to gain momentum as he flipped over in the air, an elegant layout as his feet touched the floor, barely fazed. But the usual cocky grin was gone from his handsome face, instead torn apart by grief. And if one was to look behind the mirrored lenses, they would have seen fierce anger, sorrow and injustice, cerulean eyes burning with an icy fire, bitterness clouding his features.

The blue clad vigilante's arm whisked out as he tackled two of the men head on, crashing their skulls together with a sickening crunch, their moans barely registered in his mind, so focused he was on his unbiological brother. Dick cartwheeled into another of the goons, as the Joker's crowbar smashed down again, this time onto Jason's bare head.

Time seemed to freeze.

"No!" Dick shouted, abandoning the thug he was throttling, using his falling body as a launch as he flipped through the air, swift enough to catch his brother as he fell, crimson blood spilling from the wound and pooling over his suit. The light was leaving the younger's eyes as more blood leaked out of the wound.

"I guess I'm going back to hell…" Jason muttered lethargically, his usual wry smirk on his face as his blue eyes met Dick's. For a fleeting moment, the boy looked innocent; childlike, slumped in his arms, if not for the precious plasma spilling out of the wounds on his body and the distended frame of his skull.

"No, Jaybird, you're not leaving me…" Dick murmured through wracking sobs, his fingers on Jason's cheeks, other arm embraced around him, protectively, even though there was nothing to protect. He was dead, but living. An empty shell of a soul, a fraction of the boy he was. The man he could have been.

But Jason was leaving, and too swiftly for his liking, his cobalt blue eyes shining like night stars as his life flashed before his eyes, the painful childhood, Catherine, Willis, going to hell, coming back, the abuse…all of it, like a silent movie playing back his entire life, the happiness and the sorrow all there. One last chance to relive life as he knew it. And that was enough for him. One last chance.

Pain ripped through him as his childhood flashed, the familiar agony he felt, the beatings glancing blows that left no impact physically, but played over and over again in some sort of sick playback, tears pooling in his eyes as the painful memories were dredged up, forced to the surface.

But Jason somehow knew that he wouldn't be going back to the Lazarus Pit this time. Death. He was going back, the life he had lived was borrowed time in a world full of order, a supernatural force that granted him the precious insanity of living once more. Chaotic. At least to him. It wasn't even painful anymore, for him. The wound was a distant memory.

Everything was a distant memory as the light left his eyes, his last breath exhaled slowly, body growing still as the blood flowed slower, eyelids closing over the brilliant blue irises, old beyond his years. Everything felt like floating as he died, in Dick's arms.

~FANFICTION~

 **Mwahahahahahaha, Jason Feels! Its not over...yet. Maybe. Idk. It really depends.**

 **Again, thanks to those who have favorited/followed/reviewed. It really makes my day to read the feedback, and I'm glad that my writing is enjoyed. This fanfiction is by no means over; there's still quite a bit of feels.**

 **Plus, haven't gotten to the good Graybat bit, and there ain't no Graybat fanfiction without the Graybat, right?**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry for the late update! I've been busy; gone to boarding school, adjusted to boarding school and had my entire life messed up and put together again, lol. Stay tuned for more, and thanks to the reviewers, favoriters and readers again, without your support I wouldn't have gotten this far.**

~FANFICTION~

It seemed incomprehensible to the broken bird, as he slipped away into the realm of death, his borrowed time expiring as his figure went limp like a puppet with its strings cut, the matted hair a contrasting red to the vigilante's blue as he lay motionless. Richard's fingers traced over his features gently for a moment, avoiding the smashed part of his skull, the cranium distended as the bone threatened to emerge through the pale skin, drops of blood an eldritch graffiti across his face.

"Jason..." Dick couldn't even feel the word as it tumbled across his tongue, a silent whisper in the chaos of the death-ridden city, villains running rampant as people fell. Each and every one of them a citizen of Blüdhaven, each and every one of them someone he had sworn to protect. And here he was. Failing at his job.

 _Failure._

And he couldn't even save his adoptive siblings, his protection always a second too late, always a moment after they had passed, watching the devotion in their eyes that he didn't deserve, the devotion and care that said he had nothing to do with it, there was nothing he could do to save them.

But inwardly he knew. He could save them. He just wasn't good enough.

 _Worthless._

The word sounded in his head numbly as his baby brother slipped into the realm of death, along with countless others. Steph. Cass. Tim.

Bruce.

He was in Gotham. Safe and sound, with Alfred, and his latest Robin, Damian. Safe and sound...right? Dick bit his lip apprehensively, wondering, heart hammering in his chest a million miles per hour, the vein on his neck throbbing with each beat. His breath shook in his chest, the blood streaking his face giving him a slightly feral appearance. The ripped suit didn't help either.

But Cass, Steph, Jason, Tim… They were gone, and it didn't take the ex protege of the World's Greatest Detective to figure out the running theme. This wasn't good, and the ache in his gut didn't do much to help. A breath escaped his chest, the warm air curling into smoke, the contrasting temperatures imminent. An icy chill spread around his back.

The crunch of a footstep on asphalt broke the silence.

Crunch.

The hairs on the back of his neck leapt up.

With a light gasp, he whipped around, escrima sticks already in hand, but the world seemed to slow down as he did, as if he was moving in syrup, or glue. Or rather, he was, and the world just got faster as he felt the slam of a blunt weapon on the small of his back, a crushing pain spreading as his body fell towards the ground. The pain of his chin crushing into the cracked sidewalk was excruciating for a moment, before fading away, his blistered hands scrabbling at consciousness as the world turned black once more. The darkness swam at his eyes as the pain blossomed once more, forcing him into the depths of a dead faint, suddenly grateful for the release but hating it at the same time.

It seemed the pain was his last grip on reality, something to shock him into life, the pain was his lifeline in this twisted world, where he failed, something that he deserved to feel for his unkept promises, the pain he deserved for letting the innocent people of Bludhaven suffer; after all, he had signed up for this life, and they hadn't; how was this fair!?

 _This isn't fair._

~FANFICTION~

Reality was falling, spiralling away as his unconscious body jerked, lying on the table, the balled fists and occasional cries testament to his suffering as his limbs fought their bindings, the sounds of bone hitting the white table echoing through the room. Soft screams resonated from his lips, the agony glancing blows as his body jerked. His blue eyes were shut, the skin around them stretched and drawn as he struggled to fight away his internal demons, but they were attacking from within.

His worst fears literally coming true.

There was a period of soft darkness, a cool numbness that was bliss, the nightmarish reality taking a break for a moment as the visions changed, shifting scenes, whispering voices, blurs of colour, hazing in and out, but sweet pleasure compared to the pain, the agony, the psychological trauma ripping him apart inside out.

But that, like all good things, didn't last.

 _Hell, he didn't expect it to._

A gasp escaped his lips as he felt his figure falling through the blackness, spiralling through the depths of his own mind, before stopping abruptly, ground suddenly present under his booted feet, stiff and hard, legs absorbing the shock as the world materialised around him. A muted glow of pale yellow was present, as well as an eerie darkness. The sounds of beeping computers filled the room, high tech monitors and machinery lining the walls of the cavernous room.

The Batcave.

~FANFICTION~

The sounds of a low moan pierced the air, the quiet tranquility of the beeping machines running various searches interrupted, a dark sound that was guttural, painful and wrought with agony and betrayal. Even in the deep darkness that was so prominent in the Batcave, he could tell who's it was, a familiar sound of pain that he heard so little before but tore at his ears and heart as the seconds hung in the air. He knew that voice.

And it was in the fleeting moment as he processed the sound numbly, that he knew that his living nightmare was by no means over. In fact; it was just the beginning.

Several hurried steps forward sent his heart leaping into his throat as the scream sounded again, the sounds of a lighter flicking and flesh sizzling shattering the agonized sounds.

 _Bruce._

Even from several metres away, he could tell instinctively that it was the man who he called a father, a surrogate turned truly what a father was. The man who had mentored him, cared for him and let him turn his turmoiled life into something that could almost be...good. Pure. A shred of who he used to be, the boy that could fly, defy gravity like no others in the world. Acrobatic feats so perfect, so picturesque it was almost as if he was flying, immaculate figure suspended in the air for a fleeting moment before plummeting, but leaping back upwards with an impossible grace.

But yet... The man who was so strong, to bear the burdens of Gotham City, the suffocating darkness and the ersatz motions of the criminals he devoted his life to catching. To let justice be served, in his own manner. Though some would disagree with his methods, his unerring strength and will able to keep a couple steps ahead of the corrupt officials and crime lords he vowed to bring down.

"Tch." The familiar sound was harsh as it rang through the hollow cavern, the contempt and scorn audible even from a distance. "And you thought that you were invincible." The quiet steel in the voice, so young and once fragile, a cold anger so formidable as scarlet blood dripped from a set of katanas. The fragile sound of metal sliding across metal slipped through the quietness, the sounds of Bruce's ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

Frozen in shock, Dick tried to move, but his feet seemed planted, glued to the ground, rooting him there, on the air growing colder as seconds slipped by. He could only watch, and listen, the scene unfolding swiftly.

"Bruce." A sleek voice sounded, a tap of heels, the familiar roll of the tongue, the swish of a silken skirt on slender legs as a shadow appeared, her lustrous figure looking impossibly picturesque, almost angelic. The pale skirt of the figure hugging dress clung to her curves and accentuated her narrow features, the naturally slender build giving it some character. There seemed to be an aura of regality to her expensively dressed figure, an air of arrogance and royalty, as if she was used to her orders being obeyed.

Richard's eyes travelled upwards slowly, hating how lethargic his eyesight was in this...whatever the hell this was. To be frank, he didn't know; didn't even register the fact that this was a mere hallucination, so potent and powerful the fear toxin was.

 _Talia._

He could recognise the voice anywhere, simultaneously sharp like nails on a chalkboard but soft and smooth at the same time, sleek and foreboding, terrifying yet beautiful at the same infuriating time. The way she sounded was unique, different. And even in her ruthlessness there was an air of grace, of royalty and beauty, an authoritativeness that was exerted over all, the cunning and dangerous streak somehow making her even more enticing, the blade in her hand shiny against the light.

Hell, she had managed to seduce _Bruce._

And it seemed like she had done so yet again, as said man was lying on a table, the control panel of the BatComputer upon a closer glance, the fluorescent keypads stained with a dull red in places, crusted over blood and a small footprint also visible.

 _No._

This wasn't happening... This wasn't happening...

He could hear the whistle of the knife in the air, the sound of silver hitting flesh.

 _No..._

 _Too late..._

 _Too late..._

 _Couldn't save him..._

 _...help..._

 _No..._

 _Bruce..._

~FANFICTION~

 **Sorry about how bad this was,,,, definitely not my best work, unfortunately. So sorry again for the late update!**

 **Remember, reviews give me an incentive to write more so...click that button and spend 3 seconds writing something. Thanks :3**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yay I finally got my ass onto FFN and bothered to upload,,, not that anyone probably cares, tbh.**

 **But anyways. Thanks for reading/reviewing/faving and its really appreciated. Thank you guys so much for the support considering my lackluster (and kind of crappy in terms of time) updates.**

 **Enjoy!**

~FANFICTION~

Screams shook the ground of the chamber as the broken body sobbed, tears washing away some of the bloodstains on his face as the drug took effect, rivers of clear skin against the spatters of dried blood that adorned his face. The tendons in his neck were taut and his voice raw, guttural with fear and emotion, eyes squeezed shut to ward off the visions that were tearing apart at him, inside out.

His worst fears literally coming to life before his eyes.

 _Failure._

 _Disappointment._

 _Worthless._

 _Not good enough._

 _Could have saved them…_

 _Tim…_

 _Cass…_

 _Steph…_

 _Jason…_

 _Damian…_

 _Bruce…_

 _...Bruce…_

"Tati…" The soft voice shattered the screams as his fists clenched, so hard that his nails pierced into his skin, the soft flesh turning first white then red as he precious plasma dripped, an intricate dance down to the white table where it lay starkly, the mental pain lessening as the physical took over, a quiet moan escaping as he felt his life force drip away, drop by drop.

 _Good; I deserve this_ , a voice said to him. It sounded like him but detached, as if he was above, surveying the scene. _I wasn't good enough, I couldn't save them, so I should suffer. I adopted them as my family, and then I let them die, I let them die, watched without doing anything. If only I was faster...if only I had gotten there a second sooner…_

His eyes flew open, bright cerulean orbs wrought with agony as a camera flashed above...

~FANFICTION~

A beep startled the Third Robin out of his light slumber on the couch.

"Aw hell, Steph, move up." He mock scolded, grinning a little to himself at the sight of the clumsy blonde sprawled half on the couch and half on his lap, her deep eyes closed and snoring softly, a plate of waffles lying a few feet away. Or rather what remained, indicating a small smear of syrup, crumbs and a happy waffle-loving girlfriend lying on him. Running his hands through his messy raven hair, he leaned over her slumbering form for the laptop that he had running searches, the exhausted whirring testament. Though the computer was the best that money could buy, there were so many searches, algorithms and phishing programs running that even that had become slightly run down.

The screen was reflected off of his eyes as he peered at the screen, completely unprepared with what he saw.

"Oh my _god_ …" he whispered, feeling the breath leave his lungs as if he had received a blow to the sternum. He wanted to rip his eyeballs out and turn away but there was something so...transfixing about the screen, the way they gazed back at him...gazed back at him...oh no…

 _This couldn't be happening._

A curse escaped the slightly less demonic/murdering Robin (cough Jason and Damian cough), a rare occurrence, causing the blonde asleep on him to jerk awake, also a rare occurrence when she was zonked out, for lack of a better word.

"'S happening?" Steph opened an eye, sitting up immediately at Tim's startled yet horrified expression. He gave no answer, simply jerking his head towards the laptop and muttering something about getting Bruce, rapidly keying to ping the location of the server, simultaneously combing the interwebs and destroying any evidence of the hero's face. But inwardly he knew it was no use; his identity was blown. Nightwing would never again roam the streets of Gotham or Bludhaven.

The blonde looked a little put out at being unceremoniously dumped on the couch and the loss of Tim (dubbed The Snuggle Bunny in this instance) but said nothing, the urgency evident. Pulling the laptop close, she felt her jaw drop, her brain losing cognitive function for a second as the unfortunate sight graced her vision.

Her big brother lay on the table, his body broken, skin rubbed red and raw around the restraints and the deep tears in his skin and suit, the blood matted in his usually picturesque ebony hair, the veins visible and lips dry and chapped from the screaming.

Then her eyes traveled up, and blue met blue.

 _Unmasked…_

A sob escaped her lips as she buried her head in a cushion, crying for her brother, choking, convulsive cries bubbling from her throat in agony, the grief increasing as the tears drew intricate patterns around her red cheeks.

~FANFICTION~

Strands of ginger hair clouded the girl's vision as she flicked numbly through the internet, using the common person's technique instead of her hacking repertoire. Shallow, ragged breaths moved her chest up and down, her pale face even more hollow in the light coming from her desk, lips dry.

It wasn't like she didn't to find him; she could at the command of her lithe fingers, sending Trojan Horses and spyware dancing through the complex novellas of binary that made up the interwebs. She didn't know what to expect, but also didn't want to know. Barbara had no idea what she wanted; to find him? To find him dead? Barely alive? Beaten beyond repair? It was like Schrodinger's Cat; if she didn't know, there was still hope.

But a part of her felt guilty for not trying, not looking, not searching damn the emotional consequences it would cause her. So she did.

"Another politician…" she mumbled, under her breath, forcing herself to take a sip of water that Alfred had left, blue eyes a deep abyss of code and hacking as she scrolled through the thousands of pages on the Internet, ciphers running in different windows, staring through the screen with an empty gaze.

 _Beep._

She sat up straight at the beep, fingers instinctively dancing across the keys to check the alert, unaware. Sending the cursor over the message, she opened it, unprepared.

A gasp escaped her lips as the computer screen faded to black, a curse on the tip of her tongue as she leaned over and sent her fingers flying, trying to throw out this...strange thing. But as her fingers made contact with the battered keys, a photo bleeped onto the screen, shattering the black wall of darkness into a million pieces.

 _Dick._

His broken body lay on the screen in full vigor, the agony evident to the girl even from so far away.

"No!" She screamed quietly, a tear falling down her face. "No, no, no!"

But it seemed the messenger had sensed her reaction, and words came onto the screen.

 _Barbara Gordon, Batgirl._

 _Meet by the docks at midnight. You have three hours. Bring no one, or Richard John Grayson is a dead man. I'll return him safe and sound...for a price. If you're tempted to bring anyone, I know your identities. Jason Todd, Red Hood. Cassandra Cain, Blackbat. Damian Wayne, Current Robin. Timothy Jackson Drake, Red Robin. Stephanie Brown, Spoiler. Alfred Pennyworth, Penny One. Bruce Thomas Wayne. Batman._

 _One mishap, and they'll be lying on the table as well, like Dickie-bird here._

 _The clock is ticking._

Then the screen beeped, changing back to her browser. A numb sensation spread through her body. She knew what she had to do. It could be a hoax but her gut told her it was true. Real. That this could be his only chance. And besides this person knew all their identities…

"The lives of the few for the lives of the many…" Barbara whispered, her blue eyes narrowing. It was her or them, and she would die a thousand times in a painful hell to keep the rest of them safe. They were family.

Swallowing another sip of water, she silently made her way across the thick carpet and slid the bolt into her door, pulling out a grappling hook from her utility belt hanging on a hook and binding it shut. Picking up a piece of paper, she grabbed a pen.

 _I'm sorry._

 _If you get the door open you'll know I've gone. Please don't worry, I'll be back._

 _-Babs_

With a determined sigh, she exchanged her clothes for her batgirl suit and quietly slid the window up, smoothly moving her lithe figure through, pressing her back against the exterior of the manor. Keying in the security code, she pulled a grapnel hook from her belt, adjusting the grip in her hand as she aimed it at the sky.

"This is it, Barbara." She muttered darkly to herself, using her left foot to slide the window shut. A deep breath in and she squeezed the trigger. For a split second, there was a whistle of something through the air.

Then she was gone, the tug of the powerful rope pulling her gracefully through the air as if she was flying, a blur of black and yellow in the deep, deep darkness.

~FANFICTION~

 **I'm currently working on the next chapter; stay tuned~**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh my god, guys, I'm so sorry I haven't been updating at all. Its been...rough IRL for me, its quite bad. Not going to go into too much detail but I guess one can say I relapsed. Its been stressful, with a lot of drama and examinations, so I've been dealing with that. Nevertheless, here's a new chapter. I'm writing the next one soon, so I hope it'll be up. Again, I'm so sorry I kept you lovely people waiting D:**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

~FANFICTION~

The darkness clouding her cerulean gaze disappeared abruptly.

A soft gasp escaped her parted lips as her eyes flew open, her vision blurry and stars dancing across her peripheral vision. The gravel lining the roads of the docks dug into her exposed skin, leaving red weals as she had thrashed in the hallucination. Breathing hard, Barbara slowly sat up, her hands gripping her head painfully as she did so. The past days of self-torture had weakened her body further, resulting in less resistance from the 'serum' given.

"Welcome back, dear." A deep, gravelly voice penetrated her auditory nerves as she narrowed her eyes, fingers rubbing her temples in agony.

"W-wh...what did you do to me?" she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite, head pounding. Slade's perfidious chuckles did nothing but intensify the migraine.

"A little...hmm...shall we say, touch." he said, crossing his arms. "Of what awaits if you disobey me." Pause. "Of course, if you -do- disobey me…" His eyes flicker, but she's too scared to say anything. "Dickie-bird here will be reunited with his mama and papa, won't he?"

Barbara bit her tongue, rage brewing inside her fleeting figure. Her bright blue eyes lacked its usual intelligent sparkle, but shone with pure hate and anger, but fear was present too. No. She couldn't lose him now.

"What...what do you want from me, Slade?" she spat out the name, but the words lacked bite, finishing with the dejected sigh that one would associate with defeat. He smirked at her defeat, eyeing the broken figure that sat crumpled upon the gravel not unlike the way one would eye a slab of meat at the butcher's, or a child pining over a long-coveted shiny new toy. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

"Well you see, Batgirl...or should I say...Babs?" he murmured, clearly enjoying the white hot flash of distress oscillating through her eyes. "I want a few things from you in exchange for your...friend."

"A...anything."

"Good girl." Pause. "I simply want one thing though, since I'm...nice. Aren't I?"

"Yes. Very nice." The words are taut, forced.

"I simply want you to come with me, Babs." he practically purred, pleased. "It won't take very long." He offers her a hand, which she does not take. Forcing herself to stand upright rather shakily, she gently pushes her long hair behind her ears, eyes narrowing.

"Fine. Where are we go-" She is cut off by a sudden stabbing pain in her neck, her expression going slack as terror flashes upon her eyes, frozen. Her figure falls limp, slack, folding at the knees only to crumple upon the hard floor once more. Upon inspection, her eyes would still move, but her body limp, pliable.

Things began fading in and out after that. She felt strange hands upon her, gripping the body that was clad in spandex so tightly that it would bruise. Barbara could feel her legs then torso maneuvered into a rough bag, folded at an uncomfortable angle, not that she could do anything about it anyway. She could hear the sounds of the street as her figure was jostled, the constant rhythm of steps a measure of distance. Had only she be able to move or cry out, she would have, but to no avail. Paralysis. A fear come alive, until a sudden agony in her head made everything go black...

~FANFICTION~

"Silly girl." Slade chuckled lightly, pulling open the body bag at a slight angle as he pushed some of her long ginger hair aside, taking care to grip unnecessarily powerfully upon the lithe girl's visage. "Here." He moved back, allowing another man, clad in in white to place a device at her temple, before pushing a button, releasing something with the hiss of pressurised air.

"Throw 'er in." He cocked his head before turning away, footsteps echoing in the silence.

~FANFICTION~

Dick had lost all sense of time, lying there in the room. His cuts and bruises were slowly healing, but every so often, someone would enter, change the IV that he was newly connected to, to keep him 'doped up', he supposed. They observed him, and sometimes broke the cuts, allowing fresh scarlet blood to run down his battered body like an eldritch waterfall. Pain had become his new normal, accustomed.

He didn't know how long he had been there, in the room with the lights that never turned off, bright white. He felt like he was slowly going mad, a specimen in someone's laboratory. Dick was...scared. But he was alive. In pain but alive, but losing his sanity like sand falling in an hourglass, fragments that broke away never to return. Even if someone were to save him, he would never be the same again.

The maddening silence of the drugs dripping into his body was shattered by the door opening, a slight hiss as the pressurised door opened. Not one, but two men stood, the glint of a blade in their hands visible in the bright light. Squinting, he sighed to himself silently, resigned to whatever torture they'd succumb him to next. It couldn't exactly get worse; he'd already faced his worst fears, time and time again. They came closer, so close that he could make out the threads of fabric that made up their clothing. Lumpy, he wasn't even sure whether they were male or female, just a pair of eyes gazing over a mask, alabaster fabric covering up everything else.

Dick's breath hitched in his throat as they came closer, observing, murmuring under their breaths to each other in a way that he had never been subjected to previously.

"...she made the deal…"

"...yes…"

"...do as the boss says...no...just do it…."

The words were practically unintelligible, muffled by the paper mask and the shuffling, but his mind was racing. Her? She made the deal? She? Who was she?

Steph.

Cass.

Babs.

 _Babs…_

 _No...not Babs_ , he thought wildly. _Please don't let it be Babs, please...no...not her….not Babs…_

Dick's chest tightened as the thought sprinted through his mind, glancing white hot pains spreading from each word. He remembered the girl and her vivacity, the unerring resilience and skill that made her who she was, her unconditional love for the adopted family, her seeming perfection, well at least in his eyes anyway. She was...something else, and the mere thought of having her touched by these depraved scum was...unbearable.

"...yeah, we got her…"

"...dump the body like he said...it don't matter…"

The body. Dump the body. Babs. His breath caught in his throat with a sharp hiss, betraying his consciousness to the two, who immediately stopped speaking. Dick's bruised figure was still taut as they mumbled to each other further, before one lifted a mask from a hook beside the hard metal gurney, the other tightening the straps that held him there, taking special care to run an icy cold hand over the raw red flesh that remained from his struggles.

"N-no…" he rambled, twisting his head away as an odd calmness filled his figure as he breathed in the wafts of nitrous oxide from the mask. Straining at the newly tightened ligatures with a soft moan, he could only go limp as the gloved hands slid the mask over his face. Silence...just silence…


End file.
